


If my heart were a canvas

by xxawalkinwonderlandxx



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke gets drunk, Chapter 2 is the night they met, Chapter 3 has feels, F/M, Love Confession, Vampire AU, cant use a mirror? Draw each other!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23333785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxawalkinwonderlandxx/pseuds/xxawalkinwonderlandxx
Summary: Clarke and Bellamy are vampires and they decide to get drunk one night. Who says you can’t see what you look like when you have someone who can draw you?Prompt: "Two vampire friends lying on the floor getting drunk and describing each other because they can’t use mirrors don't even try to tell me that isn't adorable" + "You know whats even more adorable, they decide to draw each other, and they both have the drawing skills of a toddler"
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 24
Kudos: 134





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I saw a post about this and I couldn’t stop thinking about it until I wrote it so here we are :) It's probably a bit more serious than the prompt calls for, but it's done now lol I still hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Title: part of a quote from Julian Blackthorn (in Cassandra Clare’s book Lady Midnight) when he’s talking to the girl he loves, Emma Carstairs
> 
> Full quote: “These pictures are my heart. And if my heart was a canvas, every square inch of it would be painted with you.”

Clarke grabs two glasses out of the cabinet and smiles. It’s rare that any of them are ever able to get their hands on something alcoholic, so this is an occasion that requires special glasses. Or, what Clarke considers special glassware _now_. When she was younger, special drink ware meant cups of gold and encrusted with gems. Now, though, it’s fake crystal wine glasses that she got on sale. Every so often, she’ll give up the money she’s acquired over the years to any foundation she can find and she’ll start fresh.

“If you don’t hurry I’ll drink this myself!” Bellamy calls from the living room, and Clarke shakes her head as she closes the cabinet and pads her way into the room.

“Stop being rude. You came to me with it, remember?”

“Exactly, so if I don’t want to share it anymore, then I won’t.” Bellamy raises an eyebrow at her, and Clarke stops in her tracks.

“Do you really want to go there?”

“What makes you think I won’t?”

“Because the last time you did that I didn’t talk to you for a decade.” Clarke moves to sit on the floor next to him and hands him one of the glasses. “I would’ve thought you’d have learned your lesson.”

“I don’t know. That decade was one of the best,” Bellamy grins at her, and Clarke pulls a pillow off the couch and hits him with it.

“Asshole.”

“Hey, I’m just joking.” Bellamy takes the pillow out of her hand and looks at her. “You know I don’t want a repeat of those years.”

“Good.” Clarke leans back against her couch and nods towards the bottle he brought, raising her glass. “Blood me.”

Bellamy snorts as he picks up the bottle and opens it. Finding blood that has an alcohol content is already hard enough to come by, even more so when it has _this_ percentage. Or this big of a bottle. He fills both of their glasses halfway, and Clarke can’t help the smile that spreads across her face as she looks down at the liquid. She doesn’t even remember the last time they were able to do something like this. And considering there’s a storm raging outside, this seems like the perfect time.

“This isn’t going to last past tonight,” Bellamy says, looking at the bottle in his hand. “Better make the most of it.”

“Oh, I definitely plan on it.” Clarke holds up her glass and they clink them together. “To another hundred years together.”

Bellamy smiles at her, but something feels off about it. Like there is something she can’t place. “To another hundred years.”

The first sip has her puckering and smacking her lips, and Bellamy laughs. She’s never liked the taste of regular alcohol, even when she was human, but she’ll willingly drink this. Even if she may need a second to get used to it. The two of them sit on the floor as they drink their first round, watching _The Little Vampire_. Clarke had loved the movie when it first came out, though Bellamy thought it was too childish for him. It should be too childish for her, too, given her age, but it’s still a good movie nonetheless. If only they were able to fly. Once Clarke finishes her first drink, she can already feel the effects of the alcohol, and she gets an idea. When she smirks at Bellamy, he raises his eyebrows at her.

“What?”

“We should do shots.”

“Shots?” He echoes. “You don’t like shots.”

“But this is a special occasion, Bellamy.” She gets up and jogs into the kitchen.

She’s picked up a collection of shot glasses over the years, but her friends use them more than she does. She grabs two of them. One says _Love Bites_ , a gift from Jasper after one of her breakups, and the other _Fuck my liver,_ a gift from Murphy. She skids back into the living room and falls to her knees next to Bellamy, holding the two glasses up. Bellamy rolls his eyes at her, but still picks up the bottle and fills up their two glasses.

“You sure?”

“Have you ever known me to back out of something?” Clarke raises an eyebrow at him and he smirks.

“No. I haven’t.” They clink their glasses together then tip their heads back. The blood burns as it goes down her throat, but not as much as the first few sips of their first drinks. When she looks back at him, there’s red staining his lips more than before, and she finds her eyes drawn to them. “Another?”

Clarke holds up her shot glass and he fills them up again. In the end, she persuades Bellamy to pour three shots, with the promise that they’ll shoot whatever is left. There’s a very good chance that they may not remember tomorrow, but that’s usually how nights like these go. The first time they drank together, it ended with Bellamy running through the streets with barely any clothes on and a very thorough apology to his landlord.

“Okay,” Clarke says, crawling over to the pile of movies they’ve picked out. “What’s next?”

“What are our options again?”

“We have _Tangled, Frozen, John Wick_ one, two _and_ three. Then we have _Jumanji, Zombieland, Twilight_ —”

“I still do not know what possessed you to buy that,” Bellamy groans. “I mean, we sparkle? What the fuck is that about?”

“Fair point.” Clarke screws up her nose. “I vote _John Wick_.”

“ _John Wick_ it is.” Bellamy stands and takes the movie from her then puts it into the blu-ray player. “You know, we could do moves like these if we really wanted to.”

“We’ve already kicked down a door together,” Clarke points out. “If only there wasn’t a shortage of bad guy ass for us to kick.” Clarke slouches against the couch and Bellamy sighs as he sits down beside her.

“I don’t know, there’s always _someone_ who deserves their ass kicked.”

“Like how you beat up Cage Wallace for even looking at Octavia?” Clarke asks, and Bellamy shrugs.

“Still don’t regret that.”

“I always thought it was the right thing to do. Given what came out after the fact.”

Bellamy groans. “Don’t remind me.”

“Trust me, that’s not a road I want to go down either.”

The two of them settle in for the movie, and the drinks keep coming. They have a higher tolerance to getting drunk, which was something Clarke was surprised to find since they can’t exactly _choose_ when they’re going to have their next drink. She’d be lying if she said that she _didn’t_ want to drink more, though.

The more they drink, the more Clarke has the urge to want to do _something_ , and the feeling of Bellamy’s shoulder pressing into hers is something she’s trying not to think about. Neither of them speak as they watch the movies other than to talk about which moves they wanted to try once they were sober. They knew well enough at this point that if either if them tried to try out any fight moves now, then something would end up broken.

“Is it bad that I don’t remember what I look like?” Bellamy murmurs, and Clarke looks from the movie to him. They’re on the second _John Wick_ , and Gianna D’Antonio is looking at John through the mirror.

“Really?”

Bellamy doesn’t look at her. “Believe it or not, I wasn’t exactly one to look at myself in the mirror most of the time. Now I wish I had.”

“Has no one ever told you what you look like?” Clarke turns her body to look at him, and Bellamy shakes his head, still not looking at her.

“I know my hair is black, and it curls. That my skin is darker than most, even though people expect vampires to have pale skin.”

“And your eyes?”

“I think I remember them being dark,” he whispers. His eyes find hers, and Clarke feels like if she had any reason to breathe, then her breath would have been knocked out of her lungs.

“I have an idea.” Clarke reaches out and grabs his shoulders, pulling him into a sitting position in front of her.

He raises an eyebrow. “Am I going to like this idea?”

“I think so.” She smiles and reaches for the bottle. “We’re going to describe how we look to one another.”

The corners of Bellamy’s mouth turn up, and he leans back on one of his hands. “Are you telling me you don’t remember what you look like?”

“I may not be as old as you but, no. I don’t remember much.” She looks down at her glass, swirling the blood around in it. “Blonde hair and blue eyes,” she looks up at him, smiling slightly, and she reaches for her braid to pull it over her shoulder. “I remember I had my father’s eyes.”

Bellamy’s eyes are soft as he looks at her, and he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. She wonders if he remembers the amount of freckles he has. “Okay,” he smiles, “what do I look like?”

Clarke leans closer as her eyes search his face. Trying to detail everything she sees. She’s spent a long time looking at him, though it was something she never allowed herself to do for very long each time. She takes in his freckles that form their own galaxy on his golden skin, and the scar above his top lip. She looks at his dark eyelashes, and his brown eyes that always seem to change shades when light shines on them. Then his sharp jawline…the way his hair curls against him…

She smiles softly. “You have a scar above your top lip.”

“I do?” His right hand comes up to feel above his top lip, and Clarke chuckles as she reaches over to grab his hand.

“It’s over here.” She holds onto his hand and guides his finger to where the scar is. “Do you feel it?”

“Yeah,” he lets out a quick breath, and Clarke lets his hand go, watching him run his finger over it. “What else?”

“You have a lot of freckles,” she smiles. “It’s like you have your own little galaxy covering your face.”

“Do you think you could make some constellations out of them?” His eyes find hers, and Clarke sucks in a breath she doesn’t need. She may not remember much from her time as a human, but she remembers the feeling of her heart racing. She wishes she could experience that again.

“Maybe.” She smiles. “But you’d never sit still long enough for me to.”

“I might.” He smiles, too. “What else?”

“Your hair looks like ink, curling at the tips.” Her fingers ache to reach out and touch it, but she knows that she shouldn’t. She can’t.

Bellamy reaches up and runs his hands through his hair, pausing to feel how the strands curl around his finger. “Do I need a haircut?”

“Not yet.” Losing against herself, Clarke reaches out and brushes her hand over his curls.

“Okay, what else?”

Her eyes meet his, and before she can control herself, she says: “Your brown eyes change color in the light.”

A look she’s never seen before crosses his face. “What do you mean?”

“Umm…” Clarke is suddenly very aware of how close they are as she looks into his eyes. “They’re a deep, dark brown, but whenever the light hits them they look like the earth. Like the color swirls.”

“Swirls?” Bellamy echoes, still smiling.

“Yeah, like the color moves.” She can see his eyes in the candle light the night they first met. “It’s always seemed like it.”

Bellamy leans forward a little more, his eyes boring into hers. “I have an idea.”

“Oh?”

“We should draw each other,” he proposes, and Clarke chuckles.

“You can’t draw, Bellamy.”

“I can try.” He gives her a lopsided grin, and Clarke’s chest does funny things.

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” Clarke gets up and heads to her bedroom, grabbing her sketchbooks and some colored pencils. When she enters her living room again, Bellamy is leaning back against the couch with one hand behind his head and the other clutching his wineglass between his legs. “I got it.”

Bellamy looks down at her hands. “You’re not going to stab me in the chest with a wooden stake, are you?”

“And lose the only person who I want to be around for the next hundred years? Not a chance.” The look on his face is the same one from earlier, the one she can’t place. “Are you ready?”

Bellamy blinks at her a couple of times, before he shakes his head a little and sits up. “Yeah. Let’s get started.”

Clarke holds out one of the sketchbooks and he takes it, along with a few pencils. She repositions herself in front of him and props her sketchbook up on her knees. “You still need to describe what I look like, though.”

“Okay,” Bellamy takes a deep breath that she knows is more from conditioning rather than actually needing it and he props his sketchbook up in his lap, too. “Your eyes are a deep blue. Like the ocean.”

Clarke can feel her body respond, even if she can’t feel her face actually heat up. Though with the amount of blood in her system, she may actually be blushing. “What else?”

“When the light touches your skin, it looks translucent,” he murmurs. “Like you’re not fully real. Almost like you’re something other than a person—vampire.”

“Like what?” She whispers.

“Like Artemis.”

“The goddess of the hunt?” She asks, a knowing smile on her face.

“Who else?”

Clarke ducks her head, though she knows she _has_ to be blushing now. She can feel her face beginning to warm. “Is there anything else?”

“You have a beauty mark above your top lip, on the left side like my scar.” A memory comes back into her mind, and Clarke reaches up to touch it. She must not touch the right place, because Bellamy reaches out and moves her finger to a certain spot above her lip. “I don’t know if you feel it or not.”

Clarke runs her finger over the little bump she can feel, a small smile playing on her lips. “Yeah. I can.”

Bellamy’s eyes scan her face, and Clarke finds herself incapable of looking away from him. She watches as his eyes move from hers, down to her lips, up and over the top of her head…the way he looks at her is how she imagines she looks at him. Trying to catalog every single detail she can. Like she’s worried he may not be there the next day and she’ll have to remember this exact moment. When he doesn’t say anything, Clarke looks down at the sketchbook in her lap then back up at him, biting her bottom lip.

“Should we try drawing each other now?”

Bellamy continues to gaze at her for a moment longer before he leans back. “Yeah. I think we should.”

“Okay.”

The two of them sit in silence for the most part as they try to draw each other, and Clarke finds herself wanting to laugh more than anything. She’s never had someone offer to draw her to try and show her what she looks like, and having seen Bellamy’s drawings before…she’s not entirely sure how this is going to go. She starts with the general outline of his face, then moves on to his facial features. It’s not going to be the cleanest drawing she’s ever done of him, but she’s not wanting to admit that she’s drawn him before.

“You have an indention in your chin,” she says when she looks up at him.

“Do I?”

“Yes.” She smiles at him. “For someone who has shaves every other day, you’d think you’d have noticed.”

Bellamy shrugs. “I don’t spend much time trying to discern what my face looks like. Only if I’ve missed certain places. It was hard enough when I was human and could actually use a mirror, but I think I’ve gotten better over the years.” He reaches up and presses his index finger to the indention, and Clarke smiles as she reaches out to do the same with her thumb. “I forgot about that.”

“I know I have an indention,” Clarke reaches up to feel her own chin. “But mine is—”

“A slight butt chin?” Bellamy says with a shit-eating grin, and Clarke takes her sketchbook and hits his leg with it. “Hey!”

“Dick.”

“It fits you!” Clarke raises her eyebrow at him. “It’s cute.”

“Hmm…” She sits back and continues to look at him. “You’re safe. For now.” Clarke turns back to her sketchbook, trying to not think too much about what Bellamy said. He’s told her that she’s cute before, just like she’s done with him. Back in the early years, the two of them attended balls together, extravagant dinners, the Crystal Palace…Bellamy in Victorian clothing was a sight to see.

Two of them get back to their drawings, and Clarke almost wishes she didn’t have to look at him _this_ much. They’ve known each other for just over two hundred years, and in that time she’s been able to separate her feelings for him from their time together. Of course, in the beginning, after they got over their arguing and disagreements, she found herself watching his every move. He was graceful, and elegant, and even now he holds himself like the highborn aristocrat he built himself into. Even when the two of them are outside some of the more shady bars and he has a cigarette dangling between his lips. When she looks at him for too long, the feelings she’s tried to push away begin to creep back in, and she doesn’t want to acknowledge them.

It’s when the two of them look up at each other at the same time, that she feels like her resolve might not last through the night. It’s a strange feeling. For over two hundred years she’s been able to swallow her thoughts and feelings for him and be his best friend. She’s helped him woo women and men, been by his side through breakups, fights, wars, sicknesses... _so much_ , and yet one night sitting on her living room floor has her thinking about ruining their friendship. If he felt the same way about her as she does him, he would have done something. She knows he would have. He’s never been afraid to say what’s on his mind and to confess his feelings. Or, maybe, he’s been doing the same thing as her. Probably not, though.

“You’re doing it again,” Bellamy says, and Clarke looks up from shading his cheek, her eyebrows furrowing.

“Doing what?”

“Scowling at your paper and looking like there’s something terrible happening inside that head of yours.”

Clarke blinks at him. She’s been known to get caught up in her thoughts from time to time, and he’s told her about the faces she makes before, but she didn’t think she was doing it now. She can’t exactly tell him what she’s thinking, even though she knows that will probably be the next thing out of his mouth, so she settles on a lazy smile.

“You have too many freckles. It’s bothering me.”

Bellamy smirks. “I’m sorry, I’ll make sure to let my skin know it needs to relax.” He looks down at the sketchbook in his lap then back at her. “How the hell am I supposed to draw a braid?”

Clarke laughs lightly as she reaches up and pulls the hair tie from the end of her braid and runs her fingers through her hair. “Better?”

“I honestly have no idea. Your hair is very wavy.” She watches his eyes look over her hair then he raises his eyebrows at her. “I think I got it.”

Clarke smiles and shakes her head as looks back down at her picture. Drawing him is nearly second nature at this point, but she’s never had him sitting right in front of her while she does it. She realizes all of the things she’s never gotten quite right, but she has come very close. They spend the rest of the movie drawing each other, and even though Clarke finishes well before Bellamy, she takes the time to fix the shading, and adding a few more curls she may have missed to his hair. It’s when he leans back and looks at the drawing then up at her that she smiles at him.

“Done?”

“Uh…” Bellamy reaches up and rubs the back of his neck, a lopsided grin making its way onto his face. “Sure.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“You were right. I can’t draw worth a shit.”

Clarke laughs. “Don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you. On the count of three?”

“Okay.” Bellamy sits up straighter. “One.”

“Two.”

“Three.” The two of them say it at the same time and turn their pictures towards one another. When she takes it all in, she grins.

“Aw, you draw like a toddler!” She laughs, covering her mouth with her hand, and Bellamy scowls at her.

“I do _not_ draw like a toddler.”

“Okay, I’m sorry.” She says, still giggling. “A second-grader.”

Bellamy takes a deep breath and turns the picture so he can look at it. “I’ll take that.” He looks back at her drawing, and raises his eyebrows. “Your drawing on the other hand…” a soft smile plays on his lips. “I’m flattered you think I look that good.”

“You can’t tell me that after all the times you’ve gotten laid that you _don’t_ look hot.” The word escapes her lips before she can pull it back, but there’s nothing she can do about it now.

He doesn’t say anything, just looks back down at the picture. Then, “I forgot.”

Clarke moves towards him, and stops when their knees touch each other. He’s watching her curiously, and Clarke feels like, if she was human, she would be even more scared then she is now. But he’s Bellamy, and he’s her best friend. She’s been this close to him before. She props the sketchbook up in her lap and leans it against her chest so he can still see it.

“Give me your hands.” Bellamy holds his hands out to her without question and she takes them, guiding them towards his face. “I want you to look at the drawing and I’ll walk you through what I see.”

Bellamy doesn’t take her eyes off her until she looks at him, and then he looks away and down at the picture in her lap. She guides his hands under his curls, moving his fingers over his eyebrows. “Your eyebrows frame your face really well,” she murmurs, and he snorts. “Then, your hair curls at your temples.” His fingers reach for his hair, and he runs the curls through them. “Your eyes are dark brown, and they crinkle at the edges whenever you smile. If I still had a soul, I’d say that they would be able to stare into it. They’re piercing.” He brings his eyes up to hers then, and she feels frozen in place. She looks away, and moves his fingers down to his cheekbones. She’s never been able to look him in the eyes for very long.

“Your cheekbones are something some people would die for,” she smiles, and Bellamy even does the same. “They’re covered in freckles.”

“Too many?” He asks softly, and Clarke shakes her head.

“No.” She moves his fingers to his nose. “Your nose has even more freckles. But not too many.” Then, she moves his hands to his lips, and it takes everything in her to not run her fingers over them herself. “Your lips always look soft. And the scar above your lip makes you look slightly rebellious.”

“Good to know I looked the part when we overthrew that monarch,” he says, smiling, and it makes Clarke chuckle.

“Yes. You did.” She continues to smile as she moves his hands down towards his jawline. “And your jaw,” she bites down at her bottom lip. “Do you know how many people swoon whenever you clench it?”

“Swoon? How old are you?”

Clarke raises an eyebrow at him. “It’s rude to ask a lady how old she is, Bellamy. I thought you would have learned that by now.”

“Maybe I’m forgetting my manners.”

“I think your manners may have gone out the window a long time ago.” Clarke realizes that she’s still holding onto his hands, and she leans back causing letting her hands fall into her lap. They look at each other, and Clarke finds herself on the edge of something she may never be able to come back from. She takes a deep breath, wishing that it actually _did_ something, and looks up at him through her eyelashes. “Did that help?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy says softly. “It really did.”

“Good.” Clarke smiles a little at him, then looks away to start picking up all of the colored pencils. She’s trying to busy herself, that’s the point, but she can feel Bellamy watching her every move.

“Clarke?”

“Hm?” She continues to avoid looking at him, steadily picking up the pencils until there’s none left.

“Are you okay?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” She doesn’t bother to look at him. She’s not sure she can. Except, he doesn’t answer her, only reaches out and grabs her wrist and she’s forced to look at him then. There’s color in his cheeks, and his pupils are wide as he looks at her. “Bellamy?”

He continues to look at her, and it’s like all of the different eras of him flash before her eyes. The different clothing, the different hairstyles, the way he looked with dirt and grime smeared all over his face, and the way he looks after he feeds…She can feel everything building. And the feeling is what she imagines stepping out into the sun would be like. His hand burns into her wrist, but she doesn’t move. That’s something else she’s always been amazed by, he never seems to be truly _cold_. At least, not like her.

“I can’t do this,” he whispers.

“What?” A pit of dread forms in her stomach as Clarke looks at him.

“I don’t—” Bellamy shakes his head and stands, dropping her hand in the process. “I should go.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” Clarke stands, too. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing, I just—” He runs his hand through his hair. “I gotta go.”

“Like hell you do.” Clarke walks towards him and looks up. “We’ve spent over two centuries together and _now_ you’re having a hard time talking to me?”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Bellamy says, still not looking at her.

“What?”

“This, Clarke,” he motions between them, finally turning his gaze towards her. “I can’t do this.”

“Bellamy,” Clarke takes a step back, her eyes beginning to burn. “What _happened?_ Did I do something— _”_

“No,” Bellamy shakes his head, and runs his hands through his hair again. “You didn’t do anything. I just—”

Steeling herself, Clarke steps forward looking up at him. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Bellamy, but I am not going to sit here and let you take whatever is going on out on me. If you want to leave, fine. Leave. But don’t expect me to be here when you come back.”

“Clarke—”

“Maybe we do need some time away from each other. That seems like what you want, right? Time apart?”

“Clarke, that’s not what I meant.”

“Well that’s certainly what it sounded like.” They’ve had times when they’ve agreed that they should take some time for themselves, but this is different. This feels like it would be goodbye. A permanent goodbye.

“What do you want me to say?” His voice rises, and Clarke’s frown deepens.

“Tell me what the fuck has gotten into you! Everything was _fine_ and then you just freaked out on me. That’s not like you.”

“I’m—” Bellamy clamps his mouth shut, and Clarke raises an eyebrow.

“You’re what?” Bellamy presses his lips into a thin line as he looks down at her. “Bellamy, I swear—”

“I’m in love with you! Okay? There. I said it.” The storm that Clarke forgot about sounds outside, but it seems so far away now. “I am completely and hopelessly in love with you and no matter how hard I try to stop, I can’t.” His voice breaks, and so does Clarke’s still heart. “I try to stay away from you, but those years are some of the worst of my undead life. You are in every thought I have, in every breath I take that I don’t need. And just when I think things are going to be normal, you walk back into my life and everything I’ve tried to push away crashes into me like a tidal wave, and you’re the only thing that keeps me afloat.”

He walks towards her, but Clarke can’t find the willpower to do anything other than look at him. “I think about the night I first met you, outside the factory with that manager’s blood staining your lips, and all I could think about at the time was how beautiful you were—are.” He shakes his head, and his curls bounce around slightly. “And even though we fought so much during those first few years, whenever you first smiled at me, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to walk away from you forever. And whenever I do, it feels like a part of me is being ripped away, but it’s not something I can heal.”

“I know you don’t feel the same way, and I try to tell myself that it’s okay, but I don’t know that it is. You’ll laugh, and it feels like life has been breathed into my lungs. You’ll look at me, and it makes me remember what it’s like to have a beating heart, even though I couldn’t remember what I looked like.”

“Bellamy—”

“And then you say my name,” his eyes bore into hers, and tears slip down her cheeks. “And I realize that I would die a thousand times over if it meant I would get to spend my years with you by my side.” His jaw clenches rapidly, and he looks away from her. “That’s what’s gotten into me. I’m in love with my best friend, and I tried to keep myself from making a fool of myself by admitting it, but here we are.” When he looks back at her, there’s a sadness in his eyes that she’s only seen twice before.

Lightening flashes outside the window and, not for the first time that night, Clarke thinks about all of the time she’s spent with him. All of the nights they’ve stayed up talking, all of the journeys they’ve dragged each other on, all of the heartbreaks they’ve helped each other through…everything comes back to her, and she wonders how she could have gone so long without realizing that he felt the same way. They stand, looking at each other, and she notices his hands working at his sides. It’s one of his tells, just like how he’ll run his hands through his hair or over the back of his neck.

Before she can put much thought into it, Clarke throws herself toward and wraps her arms around his neck, capturing his lips with hers. He stands still for a moment, and she begins to wonder if maybe throwing herself at him wasn’t the best idea, but then his arms wrap around her, and he presses her closer. The way he holds her is the same as their reunion after being apart for a while. He holds her tight, and the world disappears from around them.

His tongue runs against her bottom lip, and Clarke gasps. She may have thought about kissing him a lot over the years, but she’s tried to keep herself from thinking about it too much. She was sure that if she did, it would have driven her crazy. Bellamy completely consumes her, and she realizes what she’s been missing over the past two centuries. His hand threads into her hair as he tilts her head back, and he licks into her mouth. He tastes like blood and alcohol, and Clarke can feel her fangs come out while they kiss. Usually she’s able to keep them under control, but she knows there’s just something about _him_.

When they pull apart, Bellamy looks down at her, and Clarke bites at her bottom lip as she looks up at him. No matter what decade or century they’re in, he’ll always look absolutely gorgeous to her. His black, curly hair and golden skin has always been something she admired, and the way he looks at her…she wonders how she never realized it before.

“I’m in love with you, too,” she whispers. “Completely and hopelessly.”

He smiles, fangs showing and all. “I think I got that.”

“Good,” she leans into his chest. “You can be kind of thick sometimes. I was afraid I was going to have to spell it out for you.”

He laughs, and the sound vibrates in his chest. “No, I think I got it this time.” He pulls her into him, and Clarke closes her eyes, burying her face into his chest. “When did you know?”

Clarke pulls back to look up at him, and his hand moves to cup the side of her face, his thumb running over her cheekbone. “A very long time,” she whispers. “I was just afraid that you didn’t feel the same way.”

Bellamy smiles. “Maybe we are meant to be together.”

Clarke reaches up and massages his scalp with her fingertips. “Yeah,” she smiles, too. “Maybe.”

Bellamy wraps her back up in his arms, and that’s how the two of them stay, holding each other. Out of everyone she’s met in her life, he is the only one she wants to spend the rest of her time with. And after tonight, they’ll never say goodbye to each other again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this was fun, and it even made me tear up a little lol I would be lying if I said I didn’t have an actual sex scene planned out...Or possibly a chapter on when they first met...but I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did!!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!  
> Xx


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day they met

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back :)
> 
> Warning: Some instances of men preying on younger girls, but it doesn't last and it's not graphic!

The dust in the room coats Clarke’s lungs, she can feel it, but she knows that by the time she returns home, the weight will be gone. The other girls in the room, however, will not be as lucky. If that’s what she wants to call it. She wouldn’t exactly consider being turned into a vampire at eighteen _lucky_ but in a place like this, it doesn’t hurt. Clarke sighs and stretches, looking around at the others. There are girls of various ages, the youngest being eight and the oldest being twenty though, technically, Clarke is older than everyone in the factory.

The owner, Dante Wallace, walks into the room, and Clarke can feel the air shift. He’s been more on edge recently, but she can’t say that she blames him. If she lost as many managers as he had, she would be upset, too. His newest manager, a guy named Carl Emerson, follows him into the room and Clarke turns her attention back towards the task at hand but she’s very aware of what’s happening around her. She tracks Dante and Carl as they walk through the room, and when they come to stop next to one of the girls, Fox, Clarke watches them out of the corner of her eye.

“You’re doing a lovely job,” Dante says, clasping his hands behind his back. Clarke can see the girl’s face light up slightly, since it’s rare that any of them get praise, until: “But I will be dead before you finish your basket.” The girl’s face falls as Dante walks away, but Emerson lingers.

Clarke watches as he places his hand on her waist and leans in to whisper in her ear. Fox ducks her head, but it’s not from blushing. He whispers something else to her before he moves to catch up with Dante, and when he’s out of sight behind the machines, the girl wrings her hands out in front of her. If Dante saw that, she would be strapped immediately. They were not allowed to stop in the middle of their shift.

The two men disappear out of the door, and it’s like everyone exhales collectively. The old managers had a reputation, and even though the new one has not done anything inherently out of place, other than looking a little too friendly, there seems to be an expectation among all of the managers at every factory. Emerson makes more rounds through the room as the hours go by, and each time all of the girls stiffen. But if there’s anything Clarke can do to change that, then she will.

For the first week, Clarke begins to wonder if Emerson is different than the others, that maybe her gut instinct when first meeting him wasn’t correct, but then he slips. Touches to the girls’ shoulders and waists were innocent enough, albeit a little creepy, but nothing to the degree of the other managers. It doesn’t last long. His hand begins to travel further down towards the girls’ hips, then whispers into their ears become murmurs against their temples and light presses of his lips. So, Clarke takes to following him home on the nights she’s not escorting any of the girls.

She knew it was only a matter of time. One night, she waits for all of the other girls to leave, making sure to count all of them and running through their names in her head. Some of them live multiple miles away from town, so it’s not like she can follow them _all_ home, but she knows that if they can get a few blocks away before Emerson leaves then they’ll be okay. For that night. Except, she finds Emerson leaving only a couple of minutes after everyone else.

Clarke follows him, sticking to the shadows, and listening to his heart beating and the different sounds of the city. By this point, she knows which direction the girls walk in, and Emerson turns in the path of Fox. Clarke pushes herself after him. When she rounds one corner, he’s disappeared. She’s never had someone disappear so quickly on her, but she stops and listens. She can hear other men getting off work, and the mixed voices, but she tries to block all of it out, focusing it all on trying to hear Fox’s voice.

“There you are.” Emerson’s voice is low, and Clarke’s head snaps in its direction. She starts down the road, moving towards his voice.

“No—”

When Clarke turns around the corner into a dark alley, beside one of the other factories, she sees Emerson crowing Fox near an old wooden fence. The other girl’s face is scrunched up and turned away, and Clarke sees red. Not only because of the fact she can hear his heart pumping. She surges forward and grabs Emerson’s shoulder, turning him around. She looks at Fox, who’s eyes are wide when she turns to look at them.

“Clarke?”

She looks at her. “Run.”

Fox doesn’t waste any time gathering her skirt and running back out into the road, and she’s quiet as she goes. Emerson turns on her, his eyebrows raising in surprise before he glares at her. “That was foolish.”

“Maybe I was just jealous,” she shrugs, and disbelief flashes across his face. “Or maybe just hungry.” She smiles, and she can feel her fangs press against her bottom lip.

Before Emerson can respond, Clarke moves and grabs him by the neck, pressing him against the brick wall behind him. “Do you get off on taking advantage of under-aged girls?” She whispers. “ _Children?”_ Her grip on his throat tightens, and despite his attempts, she doesn’t loosen it. She leans closer and breathes in. “Is that fear I smell on you?”

“Please—I won’t—I—”

“Oh, you won’t? Won’t force yourself upon girls just trying to survive? Coercing them? Promising them things?”

“I won’t, I swear.”

Clarke pulls back, pouting. “Aw, that’s sweet. You swear.” Her grin widens. “Too bad I don’t care.” She opens her mouth and sinks her fangs into his neck, muffling his scream with her hand.

When she first had to feed, the sound made her want to vomit. She couldn’t stand hurting someone, but she wasn’t able to control herself. It’s a dangerous thing for a new vampire to be left on their own, but that’s exactly what Finn had done. She can feel his blood beginning to run through her veins, and after having not fed for a couple of weeks, her eyes nearly roll to the back of her head. Eventually, Emerson’s hands hang limp at his sides, and just when she’s about to finish, someone knocks her to the side.

She rolls into a crouch, turning to look at whoever just ruined her dinner, only to be met with another pair of fangs staring back at her. “Enjoy preying on the innocent?”

She stands, pulling her shoulders back and raising her chin at the man. There’s no lighting, but she can make him out well enough. His hair hangs below his ears, and his eyes are dark as he looks at her. From what she can see, he’s not bad looking. “The next time I want someone’s opinion on who is innocent, I’ll make sure to ask you.” She walks towards him, licking out at the blood on her lips with her tongue. The man follows the motion, and she wipes at the corners of her mouth with her fingers. “This is none of your business.”

“When vampires attack humans, it’s my business.”

Clarke raises her eyebrow at him, then looks down at Emerson’s now lifeless body. “Do with him what you will.” She turns to walk past the man, and he reaches out, grabbing her arm.

“We’re not done here.”

Clarke looks down at where his fingers are pressing into his arm, then back at him. She reaches out and pushes him in the chest, causing him to fly back into the wooden fence.

“Do not touch me.” She stalks towards him. “That man has been preying on the girls in my factory, and tonight he attacked a fifteen-year-old.” She hisses. “If he’s an innocent to you, then I would hate to see who you consider terrible.”

The man moves quickly, and in an blink he’s standing before her. She has to tilt her head up to look at him, but she doesn’t back away. No one can tell her that what she did was wrong. If Emerson wanted to help himself to young girls, then she would help herself to him. Which is exactly what she did.

“You’re reckless.” The man says through clenched teeth, and Clarke crosses her arms over her chest.

“I had it under control until you so rudely interrupted me.”

“You call draining a human in an alley under control?”

“Well they usually scream when I try to move them and if I snap their necks then the blood doesn’t taste the same.” She glares at the man before her. “I handled the others perfectly well.”

“Others? How many of these men have you drained?”

Clarke glances at Emerson’s body. “Four.”

“Are you crazy?” The man hisses. “Four bodies could start an uprising!”

“If they knew where they were,” Clarke says with a smirk, and she can see something flash across the man’s face. “Now, if you’re done critiquing my feeding techniques, I’m leaving.” Clarke turns on her heel and towards the street, but before she can take two steps the man’s hand is reaching out and grabbing her shoulder. She turns around, glaring, and he removes his hand quickly.

“Let me walk you home.”

Her eyebrows shoot towards her hairline. That was a quick change from him berating her about her practices to trying to be a gentleman. “What gives you the impression that I need the protection?”

“Nothing,” he says, and a smirk makes its way onto his face. “I could use yours.”

Despite herself, Clarke can feel the corners of her lips turning up, too. She looks the man up and down. “Something tells me you would be just fine on your own.”

The guy lets out a quick laugh, looking away from her as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. She shouldn’t notice it, but she does. “Is that a no, then?”

She raises her chin. “Next time, if you don’t interrupt my dinner maybe I’ll consider it.”

“Maybe?”

“You seem to be terrible company.” She turns, and before the man can get another word out, she’s already halfway home.

As she lays around that night, she can’t get the man out of her head. He was so quick to judge her and what she was doing without even wanting to hear her side. Not that she feels like she needs to explain herself to anyone, but she doesn’t appreciated being attacked for something that’s justified. Groaning, Clarke turns over and pulls the book she’s reading towards her chest. Hopefully, she’ll never have to see him again.

Her hopes are dashed when she runs into him a month later. It’s the only day she has off work, so she decided to stop by the tavern that night. She can’t very well get rid of every man who tries to grope and fondle the women trying to work around them, but there are always the ones who try to take it a little too far. Which is how she ends being led around the corner of the building, stumbling and tripping as she goes.

He’s been feeding her drinks all night without actually having any of his own. In this age, it’s terrible enough to be out alone as a woman, much less getting drunk, or supposedly getting drunk, with a man she doesn’t know. If she were human, things would be going a lot differently right now. She lets him move her up against the wall, but whenever he tries to kiss her, she turns her head away. After a moment, he begins to get frustrated, and she threads her fingers into his hair and pulls his head back.

“So, you like it rough?” The man smiles at her. Something that makes her skin crawl.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Isn’t that the point?” His hands grip her hips, hard enough to where she knows she should suck in a breath or make some show that what he’s doing is hurting her. Men like him usually seem to like that.

“Mhm.” When she tries to move, he presses her back up against the wall, and Clarke’s head hits the brick wall behind her. “Ow.”

“Sorry.” The guy practically growls into her neck, and Clarke rolls her eyes. If she hadn’t distracted him from the young girl who was serving the drinks, then the waitress would be the one in this position and not her. When the guy tries to move his hands, Clarke grabs them with hers, clutching them at his sides. “What the—”

“Do you enjoy getting girls drunk and luring them into dark alleys?” She asks, turning them around so the guy is pressed back against the wall. His eyes are wide as he looks at her, and Clarke lets her fangs show. “Because I have to say, it’s not very romantic.”

“There you are, darling.” A deep voice comes from behind her, and Clarke rolls her eyes at it. “Decide to go for dinner without me?”

“ _Leave_ ,” Clarke grits out, and she can hear the man let out a deep chuckle.

“What the fuck—”

“Shh!” The other vampire snaps. “This does not concern you.”

“Or you.” Clarke bites out. When she turns to look at him, the way he’s looking at her makes her feel…exposed.

“I’m not stopping you.” The vampire leans against the wall, looking from her to the man in her hands, then back to her. “Continue.”

“What? Is this a turn on for you?”

He grins. “We can find out.”

Clarke rolls her eyes as she turns back to the man pressed against the wall. “What kind of—” He stops talking as she sinks her fangs into him, and one of her hands comes up to muffle his scream. She’s acutely aware of the other guy standing next to them, but she lets herself get swept away in her food. Eating every few weeks isn’t ideal, but she can’t allow herself to eat more. People would begin to grow more suspicious than they already are. When she finishes, she backs up and lets the human go.

“Hey!” Another voice comes from the side of the building, and Clarke can feel her body stiffen. “What are you doing?”

“Shit.” The vampire next to her straightens. “We have to go.”

“What—”

“We have to _go_.” He grabs her wrist and pulls her in the opposite direction, and Clarke can’t find it in herself to say anything about it. When they move into the shadows, she can feel his arm wrap around her waist, and then they’re blocks away from the tavern.

“For someone who hasn’t even told me their name, you sure are sure of yourself,” Clarke grumbles as she moves away from him.

“I just saved your life and that is how you thank me?”

“Saved my life? You’re acting as if I had a mob out for my head!”

“I’m sure you do now.” As if on cue, there’s a chorus of yells that come from down the street, and Clarke turns back to the man beside her. “I’m Bellamy. Now, can we go?” He offers her his arm, and when there’s the sound of something splintering, she takes it.

“Where are we going?”

“My place.” Before she even has time to roll her eyes, Bellamy is moving her again, and the city flies past them.

Following a man she does not know, and a vampire at that, is not something she should be doing. And yet, here she is with her arm wrapped around Bellamy’s, and he’s bringing her to his house. Under any other circumstances, she would have told him to leave her be, but she has a feeling she won’t be going back to her place again. Not that she really needs to. She wants the women she lived with to have her things. They continue to move towards the outskirts of town, and when they reach a tall, newly-built house, he stops.

“They will not look for you here.”

“I would not look for me here,” Clarke mumbles, looking around. “What is a man like you doing hanging around dark factory alleys?”

“Would you believe me if I said I was looking for damsels in distress?” He grins, and Clarke rolls her eyes. “I’m only joking.” He straightens and inclines his head. “I’m Bellamy Blake.”

Pulling her shoulders back, Clarke raises her head for a moment before giving him a small curtsey. “Clarke—”

“Griffin. Yes, I know.” When she straightens, she raises an eyebrow at him. “After our first night together, I decided to try and find out who you were.”

“If you believe that was a _night together_ then you must have terrible experiences,” she huffs. “Who told you?”

“Murphy,” he says, smirking. “I only needed to bribe him with a little alcohol.”

“Of course,” Clarke groans. “The man can’t see past his own self-interest most of the time.”

“Then it seems like you need better company.” He smirks at her, and Clarke crosses her arms over her chest.

“And by better company, you mean you?”

“If you wished.” He turns and walks up the steps of the house, then looks back at her. “But if you’d rather stay out here and wait for a stake through the heart, then be my guest.”

Clarke can still hear the mob in town calling for the murderer, the _vampire_ , and she shivers. If Bellamy hadn’t interrupted her, then they would not be here right now. Sighing, if only for effect, Clarke walks up his steps and he opens the front door for her. Inside, she can tell that it really is a newly-built house, and one that barely looks like it’s been moved into.

“Cozy.”

“For someone who lives in a tenement, you should have no room to judge.”

Clarke turned on him, scowling. “I lived in a tenement because I took care of the people I was with.”

“And how did that work for you, being a vampire?”

“It worked perfectly well.” She looks at him steadily. “I’m able to go a few weeks between eating, and that is—was enough to keep me from ravaging my roommates.”

“Every few weeks?” Bellamy’s eyes widen. “Why so little?”

“Were you not the one who lectured me on draining four men?”

“Draining and eating to keep yourself functioning are two different things.” He pauses. “Princess.”

“I assume Murphy told you that as well, did he?”

“I can be very persuasive,” Bellamy shrugs. “But still, my point remains. Eat until you’re full, but do not drain them.”

Images of Finn flash in her head, and Clarke looks away from Bellamy. She promised herself she wouldn’t put anyone else in the position she was put in, and she intends to keep that promise. Bellamy seems to realize that she has a reason for doing what she does, because instead of pressing her further, he clears his throat and motions towards the stairs.

“If you’d like to get cleaned up then be my guest. I’m sure my sister will have something for you to wear.”

At that, Clarke looks up. “Your sister?”

“Octavia,” he smiles warmly. “She has decided to take a vacation for a few years. She will not miss a dress.”

“Is she—”

“A vampire? Yes.”

“I was going to say is she actually related to you?”

“Yes, she is.” Bellamy nods. “We were turned together.”

Clarke doesn’t say anything as she nods. It’s like an unspoken rule that vampires do not share their turning stories. Some of them can be intriguing, but others can be filled with pain and heartache. Also, she doesn’t know this man, he just happened to ruin her feeding. Twice. She does not want to know him anyway. Still, he instructs her towards the bathroom and she cleans herself up. When she enters the sitting room, Bellamy is sitting in a chair in front of a fire, drinking something dark out of a bottle. When she enters, he stands, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth.

“Are you hungry?”

“No, thank you. You just saw me feed.”

“Yes, I saw you gorge yourself. But that will not last long.” His eyes rake over her, and Clarke props her hands up on her hips. “Did the dress not fit?”

“It was nice of you to offer, but I have my own.” She smooths her hands out over the fabric. “I’ll take my leave.” She looks at him. He’s handsome, but most vampire men who try to bring women to their houses aren’t the kind she likes to associate herself with. “Thank you, for your help.”

“You can’t seriously be considering go back out there? There’s a mob looking for you!”

“And who is going to stop me? You? I forget the moment that you became my keeper.” She crosses her arm over her chest and looks at him. “You cannot keep me here.”

“Believe me, I do not wish to.” Bellamy runs a hand through his hair. “If you want to leave, then you may do so. I just do not understand why you are so willing to put yourself into harm’s way.”

“I’ve been doing this for long enough to know my limitations.”

“Really?” Bellamy raises an eyebrow at her. “From what I’ve seen, you act like a careless child.”

“A child?” Clarke scoffs. “ _Children_ are the girls I work with. The waitress in the tavern was a _child_. Do not belittle me with such a label when you do not even know me!” Bellamy’s dark eyes are steady as he looks at her, and Clarke holds her gaze, too. “I appreciate your willingness to help me, but I’ve done well on my own for decades now and I do not need someone ruining it.”

“You call only eating once a month doing well for yourself? Or working yourself to the bone inside of a factory?”

“I’m more capable to handle that job than the girls I work with, Bellamy. Unless that’s escaped your notice.”

“No—”

“Did you bring me here so you could chastise me or for some other purpose like the other vampire men I’ve met?”

“Unless it’s escaped your notice,” Bellamy says slowly with a half-smirk, “I’m not like other vampire men.”

“Really? Because you haven’t made any other impression.”

Bellamy looks at her for a while, and then: “You’re impossible. You know that?”

“ _I’m_ impossible? I’m not the one stalking!”

“You think I was stalking you?”

“How else would you explain you showing up just when I was about to feed?”

“I was in the tavern all night.”

“Not helping your case.” Clarke narrows her eyebrows at him and even though she can’t be sure, it looks like Bellamy rolls his eyes at her.

“I _mean_ , I was in the tavern before you even showed up. So, it could be said that you were stalking me.”

“How could I have been stalking you when I had no idea you were there?”

Bellamy smirks at her then takes a seat in the arm chair next to the fire. “I believe we got off on the wrong foot.”

“Do you now?”

“Yes, I do.” Bellamy sets props his glass up on the arm chair and his finger taps against it. “I think we could help each other.”

“Help each other?” Clarke echoes. “How would we do that?”

“We could keep each other company.” Clarke snorts and shakes her head, but Bellamy leans forward. “Not like _that_. I just mean, moving from place to place without making any real connections gets tiring after a while, and since I’ve no idea when my sister will return, I find myself wanting company.”

“You must be desperate then, to ask me to accompany you.”

Bellamy grins at her. “I believe that you keep me on my toes.” He stands, leaving his drink on the armrest and walks towards her. Clarke has to tilt her head back to look up at him. “So, what do you say? Will you join me?”

“Do you usually ask vampires you’ve just met to follow you all over the world?”

“Believe it or not, I have not asked many.”

“I could see where most would not say yes.” The way Bellamy smiles at her makes her still, and she finds herself incapable of looking away.

“But will you say yes?”

Clarke bites the inside of her cheek as she looks at him, then she looks around the room. “I was supposed to accompany Murphy to Italy. You could come with us.”

“I did not know you were traveling with him.” Bellamy raises an eyebrow at her.

Clarke smiles a little. “There are many things you do not know about me.”

“Believe me, I know.” His eyes search her face. “What do you say?”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll accompany you.” Clarke’s smile widens, and Bellamy’s does the same.

“Perfect.”

For the rest of the night, Clarke and Bellamy stay in front of the fire and even though they don’t talk, there’s an understanding between the two of them. As vampires, there is something special about making friends. Well, not _friends_ , necessarily, but expanding the list of people you know, and the people you are willing to travel with. As the night goes on, the two of them make plans on where they’re to visit next, and Clarke has to admit that Bellamy actually taking her thoughts into account is something she didn’t expect. Eventually, the sun begins to rise and Bellamy shows her to a place to sleep. She knew she couldn’t go back to her place, but she figured she would go find Murphy or something. Though, since she agreed to accompany him, it seemed only right.

When they get to the door, she turns to look at him. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Bellamy opens the door for her. “Tomorrow, we can go get your things.”

“Murphy and I can get them,” Clarke turns to look into the room for a moment before turning back to look at him. “We’ll gather my things and meet you back here.”

“Well, if you insist.” Bellamy motions for her to go into the room and then braces his hands behind his back. “If you leave before I wake, I will be waiting for your return.”

Clarke smiles at him a little, then inclines her head. “Good night, Bellamy.”

“Good night, Clarke.”

As she lays in the bed, Clarke thinks about what this agreement could mean for her. She’s had many offer for her to travel with them, but she’s never accepted. She doesn’t know what it is about him, but she’s excited to see what the two of them will be able to get into. She hasn’t traveled with anyone for very long, with Murphy being the longest traveling companion she’s had. And that’s only been three years. Lying in bed, Clarke hugs a pillow to her chest as she thinks about what she’s gotten herself into, but she would be lying if she said that she didn’t like the idea of it. Bellamy seemed like someone who could show her more things than she ever expected. So far, she’s tried to lead a quiet life, but something about him screams adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to write this so here it is! Maybe it's my way of feeling like I've paid attention during my history class even though I haven't done much for the class since everything got moved online lol I'm not sure if I'll add anymore to this story, but I'll never say never ;)
> 
> I hope you liked it!  
> Xx


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a party thrown and Clarke and Bellamy have a plan, but there's someone else who comes along

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I got asked to do another chapter for this story, I'm not entirely sure if this was what the person had in mind, but here it is! 
> 
> I should note that in this chapter both Bellamy and Clarke feed, so just keep that in mind

Clarke holds her hand out for the butler to take, and she steps out of the carriage and onto the cobblestone path. When she looks up, she can see that the clouds are covering the night sky, but the moon keeps peeking out between the gray masses. Almost like it’s winking at her. She inclines her head towards the man and he bows, then she makes her way up the stairs and into the mansion. There’s at least a hundred people dressed in their finest, and another man comes up to take the fur that’s wrapped around her shoulders.

She can feel the temperature rise within the hallway as she makes her way into it, but it doesn’t do anything to warm her. She can feel the people looking at her, as they should since none of them know her but with how she’s dressed, they know she has money. They wouldn’t assume that only a year ago she was working in a factory again, there’s no signs that she had, but they would begin to wonder who she belongs to. Afterall, there’s no way she would have this much money if it were not for her husband or her father.

She takes a right into the ballroom, and the perfume cloud that hangs over all of the guests would be enough to make her gag if she were still human. A few of the men incline their heads when she walks by, and some of the ladies she’s talked to before smile a little at her. But she would be naïve to think that they’re actually friends. All of the women in this city only care about who is trying to court who, and which others are losing their money because of gambling habits and opium addictions. Clarke makes her way towards the crystal punch bowl and a waiter in a starched suit hands her a glass chalice filled with red liquid. If she thinks hard enough, she’ll be able to trick her body into thinking it’s blood, but she knows she’ll have to feed soon.

She tips the waiter, much to his surprise, and then makes her way towards an empty spot near the back window, and she leans against one of the tables holding a big vase of flowers. Her eyes scan the room, and she watches what some of the people are doing. Lord McCallister is talking rather loudly as his hands wave around in the air, but the men standing in front of him look rather bored with the entire thing. Off to the side, she can see Lady McCallister sitting at a table with the women who seem to never leave her side, and the four of them all looking down their noses at the other women in the room. If anyone knew the truth, the lady and her lord would not be the center of attention for the reasons they are now.

Clarke lifts the glass to her lips and wills her mind to focus on the red hue of it. It doesn’t immediately cause her stomach to turn and twist, but it does not feel particularly good as it goes down her throat. She can feel the weight settle within her, and Clarke takes a few silent deep breaths to get rid of it. Before long, her hunger will be satiated and she’ll have enough left over for at least a few weeks to come. Long gone are the days of her gorging herself once a month, and now she’s able to satisfy her body’s need for blood whenever it demands it.

She takes another sip of the punch. Then another. Each one becomes easier to handle than the one before it. She’s lucky in that regard, that she can at least feign the look of being human. However, she feels that if she was, then she would feel more uncomfortable than she currently does. The corset digs into her skin enough to where Clarke knows she would tear up at the pain of it, and the amount of makeup on her face would have her itching to take it off. But, with who she is, it doesn’t. Even the heels she’s wearing do not bother her when previously they had been the very thing she despised.

“My lady,” a voice says from the side, and Clarke turns towards it, face to face with a tall man with light brown hair and green eyes that remind her of Octavia’s.

“My lord.” Clarke curtsies, low and proper.

“Pardon my intrusion, but I could not help but notice that you arrived here alone.” The man’s eyes scan the crowd of people, but Clarke keeps her eyes on him.

“Yes, I did.” Looking at him, Clarke can see that he’s not bad looking, and the thought of how he would taste has her tongue coming out to lick at her lips.

“It would be my pleasure to keep you company, should you find me suitable.” There’s a tilt to his lips as he speaks, almost challenging her to say no to him. She smiles.

“Please.”

Clarke takes his outstretched hand and he guides her away from the table and towards the crowd of people mingling with one another. She can feel everyone’s eyes on her, but she does not pay attention to them. Most of the people in this room are drunk anyway, so it’s not like they will remember her being here in the morning.

“I did not even ask your name.” The man says as he takes her glass from her hand and turns until they’re face to face.

“I did not ask yours.” Clarke places her hand on his shoulder as the other is taken by his. Usually, a man would ask for a dance, but he does not seem concerned with formalities.

Over the years, she’s memorized more dances than she really knows what to do with, particularly those that were never popular to begin with. The man smiles at her as he leads them around the dance floor, oblivious to the people that have their attention trained on them.

“Do you normally dance with men whose names you do not know?” He asks, his eyebrows raising slightly.

“Well, do you normally seek out the women who have arrived at these gatherings alone?” She quips, her eyebrows following the same path as his.

The man, whose name she still does not know, smiles brightly at her. “You’re quick.” His hand tightens around her waist, pulling her closer to his chest and further away from propriety. “I like it.”

Before she was turned, she would have been worried, but she hasn’t been afraid of anything for a long time. In situations like these, there is never any telling what the man might demand from the girl he’s got his arms around, but Clarke doesn’t mind entertaining them in the beginning.

“You are very sure of yourself,” she says lowly, tilting her head back and looking at him from the bottom of her lashes, “my lord.”

“Too sure?”

“I suppose that depends on what you’re sure about.”

“Well, my lady, I am sure that you are the most captivating creature I have ever laid my eyes on.” His face is closer now, enough to where she can feel his breath fan out across her chest and see the pinkness on his cheeks. His eyes are a deep green, like the color of the grass she loves to run her fingers through on warm nights, and she wants to get lost in them.

Her stomach clenches from hunger as her eyes slide down his face to his jaw and then his neck, but they snap back to his as he dips her. His nose nearly touches her own, and he’s unashamed as he lets his gaze fall from her eyes, to her lips, and then down to where her chest is rising and falling rapidly. She doesn’t need to breathe, but she’s practiced this enough to where she knows that this is what people expect.

“ _Vampire_ ,” he whispers.

Clarke’s eyes widen as he moves them back to standing upright, but before she can get out of his grasp and away from him there’s a murmur that erupts through the crowd and the two of them look. At the far doors, a man with curly black hair and golden skin appears with a cigarette hanging from his lips. Clarke’s undead heart swells as she looks at him, relief spreading through her body as if it’s been waiting for something— _someone_ —to come back.

Bellamy’s eyes find hers immediately and it’s like Clarke can feel a shift in his demeanor in the second their eyes meet before he looks away and turns his attention to Lady McCallister. The older lady beams up at him, allowing Bellamy to take her hand and kiss the back of it as her husband moves to welcome him. Afterall, this is a celebration for the man who has just acquired the largest factory in the city.

Clarke looks back to the man who still has his hand around her waist only to find that he’s already looking at her. The thought of whether or not he knows Bellamy is also a vampire runs through her mind, but she doesn’t dare ask. Could it be that he already knows? Surely if he knows about her then he would have to know about him.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I believe I still do not know your name,” she says quietly.

He smiles. “I was having fun with our game of no names.”

“A game, is it?” Clarke tilts her head to the side. “I was not aware of games where you make such bold accusations in the center of a crowded room.” 

“But you did not deny my accusations,” he raises an eyebrow, “did you?”

“And? What do you intend to do?”

The man releases her slightly, enough to where she can comfortably stand next to him without it looking like there’s something more going on. “Why do you believe I intend to do anything?”

“Usually when someone claims that another is a monster there is always something that follows.”

His eyes rake over her, and Clarke knows that if there were any blood in her body then she would blush. “You do not seem like a monster to me.” Clarke doesn’t waver in her gaze as she takes him in, too, and he inclines his head. “Ryker Desai.”

“Mr. Desai,” Clarke says slowly, racking her brain to figure out if she’s heard of him before, but there is nothing she can remember. “Have you been following me?”

“I must confess that when I first saw you I have been captivated ever since.” Voices get louder on the other side of the room and the two of them look to where Bellamy has just made Lady McCallister and her ladies laugh. “I believe we need to give our congratulations. Would you accompany me?”

Clarke looks from Desai’s face to the arm he is offering her. If he said that _they_ need to give their congratulations, then that would imply that he doesn’t know about her and Bellamy, and if she introduces herself to Bellamy then he would understand…

Without a second thought, Clarke takes his arm and he folds his hand over hers as they walk towards Bellamy where he’s surrounded by most of the women in the room. It’s not uncommon for that to happen, but it does not mean Clarke is completely comfortable with it. Though, that is part of the plan that they’ve agreed upon for tonight.

“Lord Blake,” Ryker offers his hand. Bellamy’s eyes slide over her as he looks at Ryker and Clarke lifts her chin and pulls her shoulders back as she smiles politely. “Ryker Desai.”

“It’s a pleasure.” Bellamy’s deep voice is like music to Clarke’s ears, and just being closer to him makes her feel better. She’s not entirely sure where this night is going to go, but she’s learned that, with Bellamy, she’ll never have to face anything alone. His gaze moves to her, and Clarke wastes no time curtsying.

“Clarke Griffin, my lord.” When her eyes find his again, she tries to send him a quiet message that there is _something_ off here. There’s a shift in his face, very slight, and it would be unnoticeable to anyone else who has not spent the past century with him. 

“It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Griffin.” Bellamy reaches out and takes her hand, and Clarke watches him as he brings it up to kiss the back of it. His lips feel warm, even though her silk gloves, and Clarke knows that if she were human she would suck in a breath. Of course, after spending a hundred years with someone you would undoubtedly develop feelings, like those she has towards Murphy, but _Bellamy.._.

“We wanted to congratulate you on your accomplishment,” Ryker says, wrapping his arm around Clarke’s waist. “It’s quite something.”

“Yes.” Bellamy smiles. “It’s an honor to have something so magnificent.” Bellamy’s eyes find her again, and Clarke smiles slightly before looking away. She really does hate when he does that.

“I agree.” Ryker doesn’t seem to notice the silent words being passed between her and Bellamy, which she’s grateful for, but then: “I do not wish for us to keep you from the others who wish to congratulate you. It’s been a pleasure talking to you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” Bellamy turns towards Clarke and inclines his head, his black curls bouncing before he turns his deep brown eyes towards her blue ones. “Lady Griffin.”

Clarke inclines her head, too, and then Ryker is guiding her away from him and towards the tables that have been placed on the edges of the room. She can feel Bellamy’s eyes searing into her back, and it takes everything in her to not turn around and look at him before she takes the seat that Ryker has pulled out for her. 

He takes an empty seat next to her, beckoning for a waiter to come over with a tray of drinks and picking two up, handing one to Clarke. Since he’s already outed her as a vampire, she doesn’t move to take a sip of her drink and instead places it onto the table and folds her hands in her lap. She watches Ryker as he takes a sip of the golden liquid and then leans back in his chair, looking back at her.

“What brings you here?” Her voice is quiet but she leaves no room for him to try and skirt around the question.

“I believe I made my reason fairly clear.” The corner of his mouth turns up, his eyes raking over her again. She would be lying if she said she didn’t like it, but that feeling doesn’t go well with the anxiety of him knowing the truth about her. 

“You can’t possibly believe that I would accept that the only reason why you’ve come here is because you find me attractive.”

“It’s the truth.” Ryker’s eyes soften. “Ever since I laid my eyes on you I have wanted to talk to you.”

“Even though you claim I am something else?” 

“My dear, it is because of it. You’re a mystery. One I would love to figure out.”

Clarke can feel his words strike a cord in her, the anticipation of what could happen thrumming through her veins. She leans forward, propping her head up in her hand as she takes a deep breath, causing her chest to rise. “What makes you think I would let you?”

Ryker’s tongue dips between his lips to wet them, and his hand flexes in his lap. The knowledge that Ryker seems to be affected by her as much as she is affected by him makes her smile, but she keeps her fangs tucked away while they’re in the middle of the party. 

“I believe I could be very,” his eyes flick to her mouth for a second, “persuasive.”

“Well, Mr. Desai, I have not seen anything to suggest that, in fact it has been quite the opposite. You cornered me and demanded I dance with you without asking and then claimed I am a creature that most cower before. If that is your idea of being persuasive then I believe you should work on it.”

Ryker sits up and leans towards her, and Clarke’s eyes find his lips. She’s playing with him, and at this point Murphy would probably tell her to quit playing with her food, but he’s hundreds of miles away and Bellamy is busy securing his own dinner.

“Then, let me show you.” The man before her holds out his hand. “Would you do me the honor of another dance?”

She knows she should probably say no, but he’s handsome and intriguing and despite the little voice in her head telling her it’s a bad idea, Clarke takes his proffered hand and allows him to pull her back out onto the dance floor.

~

Time seems to stand still as Clarke and Ryker dance, and she finds that she likes talking to him. He’s quick, funny, and intelligent for someone his age. She’s met many who have tried to coast off of their parents' money despite the fact that their parents try to push them to make something of themselves. At various points she can feel Bellamy watching her, but he is not looking when she turns her attention to him. 

Ryker becomes bolder the more they dance, with his hand traveling lower and the space between them closing to the point of impropriety, but he doesn’t seem concerned with that. Her thoughts about tasting him have not gone away, but she’s less inclined to keep him like how she’s planning on keeping her dinner for tonight.

After dinner, it is clear that Lord McCallister is very drunk to the point where he steps on Clarke’s feet more times than she can count, and if she were still human she would not be able to keep him upright. When she looks, Bellamy is also dancing with Lady McCallister, and his eyes find her over the older lady’s head. 

They can’t very well just take the couple out of the room at the same time without raising suspicion, so Clarke leans back a little and smiles. “Lord McCallister, I believe you could use some fresh air.”

The man’s eyes never focus as he looks at her, but he smiles all the same. “Yes, I believe so, too. Would you accompany me?”

“I would be delighted.” Clarke continues to smile as she takes the older man’s arm and he walks the two of them towards the doors that lead out into a dark garden. 

Lord McCallister drags in a deep breath of air as he runs a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, my dear. I cannot seem to party like I used to.” 

“It’s alright, my lord.” Clarke pats his hand. “I’m sure everyone understands.” 

The two of them stand in silence as Lord McCallister tries to regain his bearings, but the thought of what him and his wife are doing makes her blood begin to boil. A movement out of the corner of her eye catches her attention, and when she looks, Ryker is watching the two of them. 

Clarke turns towards the man beside her. “Why don’t you turn in for the night, Lord McCallister? It seems you could do with a good night's sleep.”

“Yes, I suppose I should.” Lord McCallister pats her hand. Thank you for your company. Miss Griffin.”

“My lord.” The two of them bow at each other before Lord McCallister goes back inside, not bothering to ask if she’s going back in, too, and Clarke waits until the door closes behind him to look where Ryker is standing.

The shadows cover him almost all the way, but she would swear she can see his green eyes looking at her. She walks towards him, but before she can say anything he reaches out and grabs her, turning until her back is pressed against the brick wall. One of his hands is splayed against her waist as the other comes up to hold him up as he leans against the wall. They’re closer than they have been at any point this night, and it stirs something in her that she knows she can’t will away.

“I thought you were going to drink him,” he whispers.

“Soon, but not now,” she breathes, then she lets her eyes run over him. “Do you have a problem with personal space?”

“Only when it comes to you.” Ryker leans forward to where their noses are almost touching again. “Don’t you know it’s rude not to share?”

Clarke’s eyes widen. “You’re a vampire.” 

When he smiles, she can see his fangs. “Yes.” His eyes spark. “I haven’t seen another vampire in this town for years, but I must say you were not what I was expecting when I saw you step out of your carriage four months ago.”

“So, you were waiting?”

“Hoping, would be more accurate.” He leans forward even more, his lips ghosting over hers. “Ever since I saw you, I’ve been in a trance,” he murmurs, “one I do not want to wake up from.”

“You seem very sure of yourself. We’ve only just met tonight.”

“But there’s something between us, would you not agree?” His green eyes are bright as he looks at her, and Clarke can feel herself wanting to say yes, because there _is_ something between them, something unknown and exciting. “I am not planning on being here for much longer, and I would like you to come with me. I don’t expect anything grand, but I would like for this—whatever this is—to continue.”

“Do you proposition all of the women you come across?” She teases, and Ryker chuckles.

“Only you.”

Just when it seems like the tension between them is about to hit its peak, a light comes on in the window above them and casts a yellow light across the ground. She knows Bellamy will be waiting for her, after all, they still have something they need to do. And time apart would probably be for the best...

“I have to take care of a couple of things,” she murmurs, “but, yes, I’ll come with you.”

At that, Ryker smiles a brilliant smile and the butterflies in her stomach flutter. She smiles at him a little before he pushes off the wall and takes her hand to kiss the back of it, then he disappears back inside the building. Clarke drags in a deep breath that she doesn’t need then turns to look up at the window.

One minute, she’s standing on the ground and the next she’s inside the McCallister’s bedroom. Lord McCallister is standing in front of a mirror taking off his bowtie, and his eyes widen as he catches sight of her.

“What are you—”

“Do you need help with your tie, my lord?” She smiles prettily at him, and she watches as the man’s eyes change from surprise to something hungry. At this point, he’s too far gone to question why she’s in his room or _how_ she got there.

“Please.” 

Clarke walks towards him, swaying her hips a little more as she does and when she stops in front of him, she peeks up at him through her lashes. She reaches up and begins to undo the piece of cloth, and his eyes weigh heavily on her as she pulls the thing from around his neck. When it’s gone, she moves to take the vest off his shoulders and his hand comes up to hold onto her waist when it’s gone, too.

“How about my shirt next.”

Clarke looks up at him fully then, her fingers moving towards the first button. He’s not bad looking, but he certainly never looked like Bellamy when he was younger. Or Ryker. She undoes a few more buttons but then she tilts her head up, looking at him through the bottom of her lashes. 

“Do you want me, sir?”

“Very much.” His hand tightens on her waist as the other comes up to fist in her hair, and Clarke can see the lust in his eyes. “You’ve been teasing me all night,” he slurs. “And I do not appreciate being teased.”

She whimpers for affect, which seems to be the right move because his eyes darken even further, his pupils completely covering his irises. When he leans in for a kiss, she tightens her hands that are still holding onto his shirt, and he lets out a startled grunt.

“Did all of those children tease you?” She whispers, and even in his drunken state, his eyes widen. “Is that why you took them from their families? Sold them to the other men and women like you and your wife?”

“Who do yout—”

“Shhh…” Clarke places her finger over his lips. “If you anger me, I will not be gentle.”

The door to the room opens and even though a surge of panic should go through her, it doesn’t. Bellamy enters with Lady McCallister in his arms, and Clarke can already see the lady’s lipstick smeared across his cheek but there isn’t any on his lips. 

“Marissa?” Lord McCallister gawks, and his wife gasps when she turns around.

“Harold!” Her eyes find Clarke before looking back at her husband. “What is—”

“Now, my lady,” Bellamy says, wrapping his arm further around Lady McCallister’s waist, “since we are all together, why not enjoy it?”

Clarke can see the excitement dancing in her friend’s eyes, but the woman in his arms seems to be at war with herself. When she finally relaxes, Bellamy moves her towards the bed and Clarke does the same with Lord McCallister. Neither of them seem completely sure about what’s happening, but they don’t fight them. 

When Lord McCallister’s legs hit the bed, Clarke keeps him upright at the same time Bellamy keeps Lady McCallister standing, and the man looks down at her. She cups the side of his face, and he smiles like he’s about to _finally_ get to kiss her, but she stops before their lips can touch. 

“For your crimes against the children of this city, you deserve to be punished,” she whispers, and before he can respond, she grabs his hair and sinks her fangs into his neck.

He lets out a pained grunt that she stifles with her hand, and Clarke watches as Bellamy says something to Lady McCallister before doing the same. She watches as his eyes flutter closed, reveling in the sensation of finally feeding, but then they open to meet hers. Ever since the first night she watched him feed, she’s been intrigued by it. After a moment, her eyes flutter closed as she finishes her meal, and then she lowers Lord McCallister into the bed.

Lady McCallister follows her husband shortly after, and Bellamy kneels and pulls a bag out from under the bed and opens it. It’s this system they have so Clarke doesn’t have to gorge herself but they’re still able to get everything that they can. It’s not quick, necessarily, but before long there are dark bottles filled with red liquid and Bellamy places them back into the bag. 

“So, Ryker Desai,” he says slowly. “Who is he?”

Clarke leans over the couple as she places a note in Lady McCallister’s hand, then straightens and smooths her hands out over her dress. “He’s a vampire.”

That gets Bellamy’s attention and he looks up at her from his place of kneeling on the floor. “What?”

There’s sounds in the hallway, and the two of them gather the last of their things and places them in the bag before moving towards the window and jumping onto the ground. It’s dark where they are, but the two of them still move to the other side of the house so no one can walk out and possibly see them.

“Clarke…” Bellamy begins lowly, and she turns to look at him.

“He’s asked me to join him, for a little while.” As soon as she says the words, Bellamy’s face twists. “Don’t you _dare_ look at me like that,” she hisses.

“You can’t be serious, Clarke,” Bellamy bites out. “You don’t know him.”

“I didn’t know you either, Bellamy.” She narrows her eyes at him. “I do not need you to tell me what I can and can’t do.”

“That’s not what I’m doing! You’re talking about traveling with a strange man you met only a couple of hours ago, how is this rational?”

“It’s not—”Clarke takes a deep breath and sighs, looking up into his dark eyes. She knows he worries about her, and she knows he cares for her, but it’s not like they have to be around each other all of the time. In fact, it might do them some good. She reaches up and places her hand against his cheek, and Bellamy’s eyes soften as he looks at her, all of the fight in his body leaving. “I’ll be _fine_ ,” she whispers. “Besides, don’t you think we need some time apart? It has been fifty years after all. I can’t have you getting tired of me.”

Bellamy looks at her for a moment, but then the corner of his mouth turns up. “Who am I going to argue with now?”

Clarke smiles, but there’s still an ache in her chest that she is sure is from her feed. “Octavia will be back, soon. I know she’s more than capable of causing you enough grief for the both of us.” The two of them chuckle, and Clarke’s feelings swell up inside of her to the point that she leans up and gives him a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll write to you, but it’s not like I’ll be gone forever.” 

“I give it a week, you’ll miss me too much,” he teases, and Clarke swats out at his arm.

“Maybe me being away will help your ego deflate.” 

The two of them stand there looking at each other, and she can feel herself begin to not want to leave. Something much catch his attention over her shoulder because his gaze moves from her to something else, then back. Bellamy reaches out and takes her hand then brings it up to his lips and kisses the back of it. “May we meet again, Lady Clarke.”

“Of course, we will.” She inclines her head. “Lord Bellamy.”

When she walks away, the feeling of him staring into her back follows her, but she forces herself to stay looking ahead. Ryker smiles at her when she nears him, and she takes his arm. When Bellamy first asked her to accompany him on his travels, neither of them expected them to never leave each other’s sides. After all, no one ever stays with the same companion for eternity. At least, none of the ones she’s met. This thing with Ryker won’t last, the two of them know that, but it’ll be fun while it does.

* * *

**_Ten years later…_ **

Clarke messes with the necklace she’s wearing as she waits for the train to come to a stop. Despite the fact that she’s been around Bellamy for more time than she’s been away, she can’t help but be nervous about seeing him again. Even if they did write to each other every now and then. 

The train comes to a screeching halt and Clarke reaches out to steady herself against the chair in front of her. She tries to scan the platform outside for a familiar head of black curly hair, but she can’t find it through the throng of people. Biting the inside of her cheek, she stands and moves towards the aisle, gathering her suitcase from above her seat. The wait is long as she moves with the line of people, everything in her is itching to find him.

When she’s finally out onto the platform, her eyes scan everyone again but, like nothing has changed, her eyes _finally_ settle on a head of wild, black curly hair. His eyes find her, too, and before she knows it she’s moving towards him. She has to consciously slow herself down so as to not cause a scene, but she throws herself into his arms when she gets close enough. Suitcase be damned. 

Bellamy’s arms wrap around her tightly and she smiles, burying her face into his neck. He still smells how he always has, like pine and smoke and cloves, and it’s the best thing she’s pretty sure she’s ever smelled. He nuzzles into her neck, too, and that’s how they stay for what seems like forever. 

She’s really missed her best friend.

When they pull apart, they smile at each other, and Clarke reaches out and touches the curls that are beginning to fall into his eyes. “You need a haircut.”

“You haven’t been back one minute and you’re already trying to tell me what to do?” Bellamy teases, his smile widening. “Good to see you’re still a princess.”

“Don’t lie and say you didn’t miss me.” She grins up at him, and Bellamy shakes his head before reaching down and picking up her suitcase. “Admit it, you missed me,” she sings.

“Yeah,” Bellamy sighs, and holds out his arm for her to take. “I did. But you missed me, too. Didn’t you?”

“Of course, I did.”

The two of them don’t stop smiling as they walk away from the platform and for the first time in ten years, Clarke feels completely whole again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...thoughts? Comments? I love hearing from you! I was originally going to leave it at Clarke walking away with Ryker but then decided that it would be better if I had her and Bellamy reuniting because, lets face it, Bellarke has the best reunions
> 
> I hope you liked it!  
> Xx

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on...
> 
> Tumblr: xxawalkinwonderlandxx  
> Twitter: awalknwonderlnd


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